


Boat Race Night

by unwillingadventurer



Category: Raffles - E. W. Hornung
Genre: rafflesweek2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:02:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23118922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unwillingadventurer/pseuds/unwillingadventurer
Summary: Bunny is frustrated with Raffles concealing information.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11





	Boat Race Night

“Isn’t it a perfect day, my dear Bunny?”

We were arm in arm strolling along the bridge, dressed in our fine summer blazers and white trousers— our straw boaters shielding our faces from the warm sun. We both took pleasure outside, feeling so at ease with the world when looking upon its finest attributes, and admiring nature together as we walked. 

“Yes, yes, it’s a delightful day, A.J, but you still haven’t answered my question.”

He’d positively avoided answering any question I had put to him that week. He’d been in one of his solitary moods, preferring to spend time alone than with his friend. It was only the previous day when he allowed me into his rooms after a long hiatus that I finally saw him in person.

He flashed me his best smile. “All in good time, Bunny. Come on let’s get a good spot by all those people. May have to barge in a bit but better here with all the regulars.”

We had come to observe the annual Boat Race. It was the first one we had watched together though I did often watch it alone in the days before I had reacquainted with Raffles. There was something very exciting about seeing a group of men rowing speedily along the Thames, their arms tanning in the sun, their faces red and windburned, their muscles strong— and their manly hands clutching at wooden oars. It was rather a shame Raffles himself was not competing in such an honoured tradition.

We made our way to the bridge and stood overlooking the water, crammed in amidst spectators of all shapes, sizes, colours and types. It was a strangely exciting affair to be among the regular of society and from our place, we waited with anticipation to see the boats row by, ready for that glorious final stretch to victory. The crowd were in high spirits even before the race had commenced, ready with their flags and raised arms— many waiting to count the money they’d win from placing bets on the right side. 

I turned to Raffles. “Oxford do you think? They seem to be having a lucky streak.”

“Possibly.”

“Who would you like to win?”

“Whoever’s the best.” He was deliberately keeping his answers brief which infuriated me as I’d barely spoken to him all week.

“Not where you studied?” I enquired. He had never really told me for certain of which university this was, though not from want of trying.

“I don’t see that matters. Cambridge, Oxford, it’s all the same thing to me.”

“Another secret,” I muttered, folding my arms.

I looked to my left and there was a large rotund woman staring at me instead of the water, her big brown eyes locked upon me. She was practically slobbering over me and I tugged at Raffles’ sleeve, hoping for him to save me. He instead laughed at my discomfort.

“What does she want, do you think?” I whispered discreetly. 

“She obviously finds you attractive, Bunny, can’t say I blame her. No one can resist you in spring attire.”

“May we switch places?” I asked to which he obliged after shaking his head and grinning like a school boy. It was the first time I’d seen him laugh all week.

And so, as the crowd cheered and we realised the race had started, we stared transfixed as we saw the boats approaching from the distance. It didn’t take too long for them to reach us, go under the bridge and have us all clambering to the other side to see them make their final sprint for victory. It was almost in slow motion as they began that final journey, their tired arms rowing with every bit of energy they could muster and then just like that it was over. Oxford the victors once more, cheering and basking in the applause from the crowd of spectators.

“I say it was jolly well done, eh, A.J?”

“Very, Bunny, but now the glory of the race is over, why don’t we get some lunch, and then have some rest, ready for the time we shall have tonight?”

“Tonight? Why, what are we doing?”

“It’s Boat Race night, Bunny, it’s almost criminal not to have the time of it. Besides, there are a few old friends I plan to meet up with whilst we’re there.”

“And who are they?” 

“Not here, Bunny, later,” he simply said.

“You’ll say that but it’ll be another thing you’ll never tell me.” 

I resigned myself then. It was another secret. Fine, we would go to our Boat Race night soiree or whatever it was and I would get as drunk as humanely possible.

And that’s what I did. Raffles had taken me not to a soiree or a society affair with champagne and caviar but instead to a grimy public house in the darkened backstreets of Whitechapel, nearer to where his criminal acquaintances lurked than his own class resided. While Raffles drank with two old and scruffy looking friends in the public house— to how he knew them I was not privy to— I sat in the corner, dressed in evening wear that made me stand out like a sore thumb, drowning my sorrows in a large tankard of ale and then another and another. By the end of the night, I could barely walk in a straight line and when Raffles saw me, he suggested it was time to go home. He’d ignored me the whole night, too caught up with his ruffian pals to heed me any attention. 

He approached me at the table. “You’re in a dreadfully sorry state, Bunny, let’s get you back to the Albany. I’ll put you straight in a bath.”

“I’m fine,” I slurred, “just tired. Another ale please,” I called to a barmaid who wasn’t even there.

“I should think not, you’re inebriated. Come on old boy, put your arms around me.” 

He hoisted me up and let me put my full weight upon him. It was only when we got outside that I noticed a policeman’s helmet in his hand.

“What on earth is that doing there?”

He hushed me and dragged me carefully into an alleyway leading away from the pub. “It’s a policeman’s helmet. I pinched it off that constable who stopped in for a drink. Tradition really. Sacrilege to go home without one.”

“Oh yes, another thing you no doubt did at Cambridge, or was it Oxford?” I hiccupped. “I suppose one of your old friends would know. You probably tell them everything. It’s only me who you keep in the dark.”

There was a loud sigh from Raffles and suddenly he was leading me to the corner of the alley, where he placed me seated against the wall and slid down to sit beside me. I was quite unsteady so I was grateful I had him to lean on.

“What’s the matter, Bunny? It’s Boat Race night, you should be merry and joyous.”

“Nothing.” I sneered.

I caught sight of him rolling his eyes upwards. “Nothing? You’ve been really off with me all night. I tried to invite you to our table, you refused.”

“You won’t tell me things. You’ve ignored me and been in a mood all week, so why should I tell you what the matter is?”

I put my hand over my mouth. Why did people have to reveal things when they were drunk? I didn’t want to tell him how I felt but the alcohol inside me paid heed to that, reacted with my emotions and caused a concoction of truths to pour out of me.

“You don’t trust me,” I whispered.

“Don’t I?” He sounded annoyed with me. Or did he? It was difficult to tell when I could hear the raucous laughter of a lady of the night echoing around me.

“I’m sorry, A.J, but that’s how I feel.”

“Because I didn’t tell you about my friends or that thing earlier?”

“I’m always left in the dark, Raffles.”

I felt his arm around my shoulder and he was rubbing it tenderly. And then he lifted my chin so that we were eye to eye. 

“Bunny, listen to me.” He looked down again then, staring at the policeman’s helmet in his lap before running his hand through his wavy black hair. “Sometimes I confess I do leave you in the dark and the reasons are complicated.”

I folded my arms but they were numb and cold. “Well it doesn’t feel very good. In fact it feels plain rotten.”

“You get left in the dark on occasion but I assure you, Bunny, that you are the light in my life and when it matters most, I bare all. You are the only one who knows the real me. To quote Oliver Cromwell, warts and all.”

“You certainly don’t have any of those. I’ve looked!”

He laughed then and I laughed with him. His laughter was so infectious and though I was still angry with him, it was hard to remain so when he was finally talking to me and looking after me, spilling his heart in only the way Raffles could and in the middle of the night in a dark alleyway in a rough part of the city. With Raffles it was always an adventure.

“Time to go home?” he asked.

“Yes.” I conceded. 

He helped me to my feet and we were about to resume our long walk back to the Albany when he grasped my arm and smiled affectionately. “I was at Oxford, Bunny.”

“You were?”

“And Cambridge. Went to both, my boy, since you were so curious.”

“How hard was that?” I said. 

I laughed but suddenly a queer feeling came over me and everything turned blue. I could feel my body shaking. The alleyway seemed to blur. I felt something rising up my throat. “I’m going to be sick!”

And there the policeman’s helmet was in Raffles’ hand, holding it under my chin, ready for me to release my stomach contents. He grimaced after it was completed and then threw the helmet onto the ground. 

“Think I’ll leave that there.” He patted me on the back. “Feeling better?”

“I think so. I’d rather we never spoke of this again, A.J.”

“Probably for the best.”

He placed his arm through mine and helped me to steady myself for the journey home. We may have been in a dirty old alleyway, in a rough old street full of drunks and whores and crime and poverty and pollution and smoke and noise of the night but it could have been the sunniest day to me— it could have been that morning in our summer jackets, strolling on the bridge. It could have been paradise because he was at my side.


End file.
